Thorns And Silk

Chapter 6 — Blood Business

Dante's POV

The docks smelled like gasoline, saltwater, and impending violence.

Chicago’s harbor stretched endlessly beneath the cold midnight sky while cargo containers towered around us like dark steel walls. Rain from the previous night still clung to the pavement, reflecting the harsh white lights overhead.

I stood beside the shipment trucks with Luca and Marco while men unloaded crates filled with weapons from overseas.

Routine business.

Until it wasn’t.

“Shipment count is short,” Luca muttered while checking inventory papers.

My expression hardened instantly. “How short?”

“Three crates.”

Marco cursed under his breath. “That’s half a million dollars in missing weapons.”

I already knew what that meant.

Betrayal.

Again.

One of the workers nearby suddenly avoided eye contact.

Interesting.

I stepped toward him slowly.

The man immediately stiffened.

“What’s your name?” I asked calmly.

“E-Eric.”

Sweat rolled visibly down his temple despite the freezing weather.

Fear.

Guilt.

Luca noticed too.

“You seem nervous, Eric.”

“N-no, sir.”

I stopped directly in front of him.

“Look at me.”

He obeyed shakily.

“You stole from me?” I asked quietly.

“No!”

Too fast.

Marco sighed dramatically beside me. “See, this is why criminals have terrible life expectancy.”

Eric took a step backward. “I swear I didn’t—”

Gunshots exploded suddenly across the docks.

Chaos erupted instantly.

“DOWN!” Luca barked.

Men scattered behind containers while bullets tore violently through metal walls around us.

An ambush.

I grabbed my gun immediately before firing toward the sniper positioned above the warehouse rooftop.

Blood sprayed seconds later.

Dead.

More gunfire erupted from the east side of the docks.

“Romano men!” one of my guards shouted.

Marco fired twice before ducking behind a truck. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Another bullet struck the container inches from my head.

I moved fast.

Cold.

Focused.

Violence sharpened my mind instead of clouding it.

Always had.

One attacker rushed from behind a stack of crates with a knife in hand.

I shot him directly between the eyes.

Another grabbed Luca from behind.

Big mistake.

Luca slit his throat before the man even finished moving.

Blood splattered across the pavement.

Then—

Marco staggered suddenly.

My eyes snapped toward him.

He was clutching his side.

Blood poured through his fingers.

“Marco!”

He cursed loudly. “I’m fine!”

Lie.

Two more attackers rushed forward.

I killed one instantly before slamming the second against a container hard enough to crack bone.

“Who sent you?” I snarled.

The man spat blood at my shoes.

Wrong answer.

I grabbed his throat violently before smashing his face repeatedly against the steel wall until he stopped moving entirely.

Silence slowly settled across the docks afterward.

Broken only by distant waves and Marco swearing creatively while leaning against a truck.

Luca walked toward us while reloading his weapon. “Five dead. Two escaped.”

“I’ll deal with them later.”

My attention remained fixed on Marco’s blood-soaked shirt.

“You’re hit badly.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Blood dripped steadily onto the concrete beneath him.

Marco looked pale.

That irritated me.

“Get him to the estate,” I ordered sharply.

Marco groaned. “Wonderful. Rosa’s going to yell at me again.”

Aria's POV

I couldn’t sleep after the nightmare.

Not fully.

Every time I closed my eyes, memories returned too quickly.

So sometime after midnight, I wandered downstairs quietly wearing one of Rosa’s oversized sweaters while the mansion remained dark and silent around me.

The kitchen lights glowed softly ahead.

Rosa stood near the stove stirring something warm inside a pot.

She looked up immediately.

“Oh, tesoro.” Her expression softened. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I hesitated before nodding.

Rosa sighed gently. “Nightmares?”

My throat tightened.

How did she know?

Something must have shown on my face because Rosa immediately opened her arms.

“Come here.”

I froze.

Nobody hugged me.

Not anymore.

Maybe not ever.

Rosa’s expression turned heartbreakingly sad.

“Poor child,” she whispered.

Slowly, uncertainly, I stepped closer.

Her arms wrapped around me carefully.

Warm.

Soft.

Safe.

Emotion hit me so suddenly I almost pulled away in panic.

But Rosa simply rubbed my back gently like she already understood broken things.

“You don’t have to be frightened here,” she murmured.

Tears burned behind my eyes instantly.

Before I could answer, the front doors slammed loudly somewhere downstairs.

Voices followed.

Male voices.

Urgent.

My entire body stiffened automatically.

Rosa frowned. “Something happened.”

Fear curled sharply inside my stomach.

Then suddenly Marco stumbled into the kitchen surrounded by two guards.

Blood covered his white shirt.

My breath caught painfully.

“Oh, Madonna!” Rosa exclaimed.

Marco grinned weakly despite the blood loss. “Good evening to you too, Mama Rosa.”

“You i***t boy,” she snapped while rushing toward him. “Sit down before you collapse.”

Only then did I notice Dante entering behind them.

Dark coat.

Gun still tucked against his side.

Blood splattered across his knuckles.

Not his blood.

The realization made my stomach twist.

The room changed the moment he walked inside.

Danger clung to him visibly.

Violence.

Power.

Death.

This was the real Dante Castellano.

Not the quiet man helping me breathe through panic attacks.

A mafia king.

A killer.

His dark eyes landed on me instantly.

“You should be upstairs.”

The cold authority in his voice made me flinch slightly.

Dante noticed.

His expression shifted immediately.

Softer.

Less sharp.

“I didn’t mean—”

Marco groaned loudly while clutching his side. “Can we do emotional staring later? I’m actively dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Luca muttered while entering behind them.

“Your bedside manner sucks.”

Rosa pushed Marco into a chair. “Take your shirt off.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

“Marco.”

“Fine, fine.”

He hissed in pain while pulling the blood-soaked fabric upward.

The wound along his ribs looked deep.

Ugly.

Blood still poured steadily from it.

Fear gripped me instantly.

“He needs stitches,” I whispered.

Everyone looked at me.

I immediately regretted speaking.

“I can do them.”

Silence.

Dante’s gaze sharpened. “You know how?”

“My mother used to volunteer at clinics when I was younger,” I explained quietly. “I learned basic medical care.”

Marco blinked dramatically. “An angel who can stitch wounds? Dante, your wife gets hotter every minute.”

Luca looked disgusted. “You flirt with women while bleeding out.”

“It’s called multitasking.”

Despite myself—

A tiny laugh escaped my lips.

The sound shocked me.

The entire room went still.

Marco pointed triumphantly. “Did everyone hear that? She laughs!”

Heat rushed into my face instantly.

Dante stared at me silently.

Too silently.

Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.

Then he stepped aside slightly.

“Help him.”

Dante's POV

She looked beautiful when she laughed.

That realization annoyed me immediately.

Because it happened so suddenly.

One second she looked frightened and exhausted beneath oversized sleeves.

The next—

She laughed.

Small.

Soft.

Real.

And something sharp tightened unexpectedly inside my chest.

Marco noticed my expression instantly.

Of course he did.

His grin widened despite the pain. “Oh, he’s gone.”

“Shut up.”

Rosa prepared medical supplies quickly while Aria washed her hands carefully at the sink.

I watched quietly from across the kitchen.

She moved differently while focused.

More confident.

Less afraid.

Interesting.

Marco winced dramatically as Aria approached with antiseptic and gauze.

“Before we begin,” he announced solemnly, “if I die, tell everyone I was handsome.”

“You’re not dying,” Luca repeated flatly.

“You never support my dreams.”

Aria knelt carefully beside Marco’s chair.

“You should hold still,” she murmured softly.

Marco placed a hand over his heart. “See? She cares about me already.”

Dante leaned against the counter silently while watching her work.

Aria’s fingers remained gentle but steady as she cleaned blood from Marco’s side.

He hissed sharply.

“Sorry.”

“There it is,” Marco muttered dramatically. “The tiny apologies.”

Heat colored her cheeks faintly.

“She apologizes when breathing too loudly,” Luca added dryly.

Aria immediately lowered her gaze.

Regret flashed across Luca’s face at once.

Interesting.

Even he noticed how fragile she was becoming around criticism.

Marco’s expression softened slightly.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m joking, sweetheart.”

She nodded quickly. “I know.”

Lie.

I could tell she didn’t.

Her hands trembled slightly while threading the needle.

“Aria.”

She looked up instantly.

“Breathe,” I reminded calmly.

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly afterward.

Good.

She stitched Marco’s wound carefully while Rosa handed her clean bandages.

“You’ve done this before,” I observed.

“A few times.”

“How?”

“My mother hated hospitals,” Aria explained softly without looking up. “So she treated injuries at home whenever possible.”

Something in her expression changed briefly while mentioning her mother.

Sadness.

Loss.

Interesting.

“Your mother taught you?” Marco asked.

A small nod.

“She sounds smart.”

“She was kind.”

Past tense.

The realization settled heavily inside the room.

Dead then.

Marco seemed to understand too because his usual teasing softened around the edges.

“Well,” he declared dramatically, “she clearly failed one thing.”

Aria blinked. “What?”

“She didn’t teach you how to insult Luca properly.”

Luca looked offended. “Why am I always involved?”

“Because you’re easy to annoy.”

Another tiny smile touched Aria’s lips.

There it was again.

That impossible softness.

And Christ.

I wanted to see it more.

The realization hit hard enough to irritate me.

Aria finally tied the bandage securely before leaning back slightly.

“Done.”

Marco looked down at his side before whistling softly. “Damn. Better than half the doctors I know.”

“She has surgeon hands,” Rosa agreed proudly.

Aria looked startled by the praise.

Like compliments physically confused her.

Then suddenly her eyes lifted toward me uncertainly.

Waiting.

For approval.

Something about that hit dangerously deep inside my chest.

“You did well,” I said quietly.

Silence filled the kitchen.

Aria stared at me like the words genuinely mattered.

Too much.

Far too much.

Then slowly—

Very slowly—

She smiled.

Not the polite practiced smile from photographs.

Not nervousness.

A real one.

Small.

Shy.

Beautiful enough to stop breathing for half a second.

Marco noticed instantly.

“Oh,” he muttered dramatically while pointing between us. “This is getting disgustingly emotional.”

“Shut up, Marco.”

“No, seriously. The eye contact alone nearly healed my wound.”

Luca rubbed his temples tiredly. “I hate both of you.”

Aria laughed softly again.

And that sound—

That tiny fragile sound—

Settled somewhere permanent inside my chest.

Aria's POV

Later that night, long after Marco finally stopped complaining dramatically about near-death experiences, I stood alone near the balcony outside my bedroom.

Chicago glittered endlessly beneath the dark sky.

Beautiful.

Cold.

Far away.

The balcony door slid open quietly behind me.

I stiffened automatically.

Then Dante’s voice came.

“You’ll freeze out here.”

I relaxed slightly.

Dante stepped beside me wearing dark sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his damp hair suggesting he had showered recently.

The faint scar along his throat caught softly beneath the moonlight.

Dangerous man.

Gentle hands.

Nothing about him made sense.

“You stitched him well,” he said after a moment.

“I was scared.”

“Why?”

“I thought if something happened to him…” I hesitated. “Everyone would blame me.”

Dante turned toward me fully then.

“That’s your first instinct?”

I looked away quietly.

Silence stretched between us.

Then Dante spoke in a low voice that made something ache inside my chest.

“No one here is waiting for you to fail, Aria.”

Emotion tightened painfully around my ribs.

I swallowed hard.

“That’s difficult to believe.”

“I know.”

His honesty startled me again.

Dante rested his forearms lightly against the balcony railing beside me.

The city lights reflected faintly in his dark eyes.

“You smiled tonight,” he observed quietly.

Heat flooded my face instantly.

“Oh.”

“You should do it more often.”

My heartbeat stumbled unevenly.

Nobody had ever said something like that to me before.

The silence afterward felt strangely soft.

Not awkward.

Not frightening.

Just quiet.

Safe.

And when Dante’s hand moved beside mine against the railing—

Close enough for warmth but not touching—

I didn’t move away.